21 Shots
by Desbelleschoses
Summary: Kain turns twenty-one, and the gang decides to give him a taste of the bar life. Oneshot.


Kain crinkled his nose at the heavy air of smoke hanging over his head. He was used to Jean smelling like a human cigarette, but he only smoked one brand, and it became easy enough to ignore. This was an amalgamation of cigar smoke, pipes, and God knows how many cigarette brands. Consciously, he tried not to cough or sneeze due to the contaminants. The last time he did, Jean had insisted that he try one for himself. The memory alone made him gag.

He didn't see why his colleagues were so excited about his twenty-first birthday. It was just another year, like any other. In a rare show of deviousness, Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Havoc joined forces, insisting that the office go out for a celebratory drink or two. When even Lieutenant Hawkeye agreed, he knew that there was no fighting it. Even the voice of reason had turned against him.

When he met up with Vato to walk to the bar, he was told to change his clothes. Apparently his second choice wasn't good enough, either, and his grey-haired friend ended up picking out a shirt that he deemed acceptable. After a good deal of compromise, he agreed to a casual button-down, on the condition that he button one level above that Vato had suggested. His superior officers took this whole bar thing way more seriously than he thought. Heymans, who he had never seen out of uniform, was also wearing a collared shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Jean's tight, black t-shirt left far too little to the imagination, although Kain suspected that was the point. He was shocked to see Riza in a skirt that hit mid-thigh and a high-necked, sleeveless blouse; he'd never seen or expected her to show so much skin. Roy was obviously enjoying the sight, and he was anything but subtle about it.

Any idiot could see that the colonel's eyes were roaming as he followed Riza across the bar, uncharacteristically letting her go first. Her eyes showed that she knew what he was doing, but she either didn't care or didn't want to deal with that issue. She approached their table and set her glass of whiskey down in front of her place. "Heymans, Vato." Two beers changed hands.

"Here you go, man," Roy said as he handed Jean a whiskey on the rocks, holding his own old fashioned. "I thought we should start Kain off easy."

Kain cautiously took the shot glass from his superior officer, eyeing the clear liquid inside. He almost spilled it when Jean clapped him on the shoulder. "We're gonna find out what your poison is, kid."

"I don't know about this."

"Drink," Jean insisted. His eyes lit up as he looked around at his friends, who soon joined in. "Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!"

Damned peer pressure. Kain closed his eyes and threw the shot back. He dropped the glass onto the table, shaking his head. "What the hell was that?!"

"Vodka. We got you a flavored one, just in case. That one was…." Roy paused.

"Coconut," Riza finished decisively.

"In what world is that coconut?! I feel like I drank sun tan lotion!"

"Okay, back to the board," Jean declared.

Jean and Riza set up a tag-team rhythm of going up to the bar and bringing Kain a drink while the other took their place at the bar. After a few samples, Kain's reservations about the night slipped away. Roy had taken over drink duty, claiming that he knew more because his aunt ran a bar. Overzealous as he was, the colonel began to buy shots for the entire table instead of only for Kain. The group, mostly thrilled that they didn't have to pay for their drinks, joined in with enthusiasm.

Kain, of course, was the first to fall. His head was swimming, and the rest of the night was remembered in bits and pieces. He saw Jean try to flirt with several women, one of whom threw a drink in his face. Heymans was dared... dared himself?... he couldn't quite recall; what he did know was that Lieutenant Breda consumed an ungodly number of chicken wings. At some point, Roy and Riza made their way out onto the dance floor, and Kain had a strong feeling that he somehow wasn't old enough to be watching. He didn't know how long it was before the colonel pulled him from his seat, insisting that he was going to teach him how to 'dance to seduce' because 'as an adult, he needed to know how to attract.' Jean readily joined in on the lesson. Supposedly Kain had some sort of 'natural talent,' whereas Jean was almost constantly corrected by either Roy or Riza.

The next thing Kain remembered was sitting outside in the cold, night air. A wave of nausea hit him, and he groaned, lying down on the concrete sidewalk. He closed his eyes and listened to the commotion around him.

"I was robbed!" Roy's voice shouted.

"You spent all your money at the bar." Somehow, Riza was still rational.

"The bartender's a thief!" Jean jumped to his friend's aid.

Rapid pounding sounded like it was coming from the door to the bar. "Give me back my money, you son of a bitch!" A moment passed. "Riza, give me my gloves."

"No."

"Why the hell not?!"

"I left them at home because I didn't want you to make flaming shots!"

"Then give me your gun!"

"I don't have that, either!"

"We're defenseless!" Jean cried out in despair.

"We need to call the police," Heymans rationalized.

"We _are_ the police!"

"I don't have money for the payphone because _that thieving mother-"_

Everything went dark.

How he woke up in his bed the next morning, in his pajamas, Kain doubted he would ever know. He blocked his eyes from the sunlight and tried to wet his dry mouth, to no avail. His hand weighed a hundred pounds as he reached for the telephone. It clattered to the ground as he fumbled, and he groaned. Forget calling out to work; somehow, he didn't think anyone else would be there to answer his call.


End file.
